


Grow Old With Me

by lookatmebellamy



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Compliant, Canon Rewrite, Canon Universe, Clarke gets the love she deserves, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Kid Fic, Mutual Pining, Post-Canon Fix-It, Praimfaya, Slow Burn, Unplanned Pregnancy, becho never happened, but also smut, spacekru
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-04
Updated: 2020-05-25
Packaged: 2020-09-25 05:46:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20371675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lookatmebellamy/pseuds/lookatmebellamy
Summary: Bellamy leaves Clarke on earth to die. Six years after Praimfaya, he comes back to find that Clarke's alive and thriving on the ground. Unbelievably, she also has a child.





	1. A Safe Place to Land

**Author's Note:**

> Might turn into a multi-chapter if you guys like it. I'm very new to writing so any sort of positive feedback will help me update regularly. Comments and kudos greatly appreciated!

Two horses stand silent and gleaming on the hill, one black and one white. The rider of the black horse, a woman with long blonde hair, dismounts and gingerly approaches the group of travellers. 

"You're late," she says, smiling weakly. It had been more than six years since the end of the world. Six years since she had last seen her friends. 

"We..." Raven reacts first, shaking with shock and confusion. "We thought you were dead, Clarke." Raven steps forward hesitantly, unsure of whether to hug her or not. Six years felt like a lifetime, a physical force suffocating the air between them. Their time on earth together was unbelievably short in comparison. 

Sharing none of her reservations, Monty and Harper knock Raven over in their race to get to Clarke, crushing her in a two-way hug. "I can't believe you're not dead," Monty says, eyes twinkling. 

Murphy slugs an arm around her neck and smirks. "Me and Clarke are Cockroaches, you'll never get rid of us." Clarke laughs awkwardly, her back stiffening as a bearded man with dark curls, almost unrecognizable to her now, barrels out of the spaceship. 

Bellamy pushes past them all and half-stumbles towards her, stopping just a few feet away. His hands clench and unclench as he frantically scans her face, "Clarke?" 

“Clarke...” He says again, tearing up. “It’s really you.” He whispers her name like a prayer he’d memorized years ago and never forgotten. She stands frozen before him, pain and relief flitting through her face as she pierces him with those liquid blue eyes. The girl he left behind, back from the dead. 

"It's really me," she says. Her eyes crinkle at the corners as she smiles. Her golden hair falls to her waist, curling gently in the wind. She holds herself differently, steady and unyielding in a way she never quite managed to be before. Bellamy drinks her in desperately, head to toe, the way a starving man looks at water. And she notices. 

A slight blush appears on Clarke's cheeks as she clears her throat and locks eyes with each member of Spacekru in turn.

"I'm glad all of you made it," she says. "Now follow me." 

Bellamy immediately falls into step with her as she turns around and heads for the horses, Raven following close behind. 

There are shouts of wonder and joy at being back on earth behind them. Murphy scoops Emori up and carries her bridal style up the hill. Monty and Harper pause to look at every flower and blade of grass as Echo huffs and groans behind them. 

Bellamy watches Clarke intently as they crest the top of the hill, afraid she'll disappear. "I thought you were dead, Clarke." He says quietly. Her smile stays tacked on, but he can tell it's forced. Her face is shuttered off from him, a canvas he used to be able to read so well now blank and empty. "How did you survive alone out here?" 

Guilt clenches in his chest as she finally stops to look at him. "I wasn't alone." She holds his gaze for a moment, shoulders back and spine straight, a princess through and through. She’s more sure of herself now than any of them can remember her being before. 

Bellamy nods, uncertain. Clarke gestures with her chin and leads him over to the white horse. She stops at its flank as a little girl flies off the horse and into Clarke’s arms. Clarke laughs and nuzzles the girl’s hair, “Careful, ai strik won.” My little one. Her warmth is so clear and palpable that her next words are all but unnecessary. 

“This is my daughter,” she says softly, every inch the proud mother. “Freya.” 

There’s a moment of silence as the newcomers try to process this. A heavy pause as they struggle to do the math in their heads. And come to terms with the fact that not only did Clarke survive the literal apocalypse, she survived the apocalypse while pregnant. There are exclamations of shock, uncontained gasps of horror, as they all look at Clarke as if seeing her for the first time. 

All the while, Freya stands proud and silent. A spitting image of her mother with blonde hair and ice blue eyes. 

The six-year-old smiles toothily and crosses her arms, all fire and sass. “Nice to meet you too.”

Bellamy recovers first. “Hi Freya,” he says, stepping forward and extending a hand uncertainly. “I’m Bellamy.” 

Freya glances quickly at her mother before taking Bellamy’s large hand in her tiny one and squeezing it. “I know.” 

“I know all of you.” Freya speaks like a 30-year-old woman trapped in a little girl’s body. Bellamy imagines Clarke was exactly the same at that age. “Nomon’s told me all about you.”

“All good things I hope,” Murphy snorts, eyeing Clarke with fake severity. 

Clarke laughs, “In her eyes, all of you might as well be superheroes.” Freya nods along vigorously, eyes lingering on Bellamy. 

“But no one’s cooler than Auntie Tavia!” Freya hollers as she leaps into Clarke’s arms and pretends to hold a samurai over her head. “She’s a warrior princess, you know.” 

Clarke chuckles lightly. “I’m sure they all remember Auntie O, Freya.”

“Octavia?” Bellamy’s eyes flood with relief, “the bunker made it?”

Clarke has to physically hold herself back from touching him. “Octavia’s safe,” she says instead. “They all are, we can radio the bunker when we get back to Shadow Valley.”

“Shadow Valley?” Raven asks. 

“Trikova kru,” Echo gasps. Shadow People. “I remember them from a scouting mission. They survived Praimfaya?”

Clarke nearly laughs. “Survived it? They kicked Praimfaya’s ass.”

Murphy smirks. “So did you, clearly.”

“Yes.” A dark look crosses Clarke’s face. “I guess I did.” 

Freya pulls at Clarke’s hair. “Time to go?”

Clarke grins at her daughter and nods. “Time to go, sweetheart.” She helps Freya up onto the white horse and swings onto the black steed. 

Turning back to the group of people she had once lived and died for, Clarke smiles brightly. “Ready to see the ground post-apocalypse?”

“No, probably not,” Murphy grunts. Emori smacks him over the head. 

Bellamy sighs. “Lead the way.” 

\---

The village is an hour’s walk to the East. Barely a hike. But by the time they reach the valley, Clarke’s exhausted. She’s imagined this reunion a hundred times over the years. But she never thought it would be so… awkward. 

Clarke and Freya lead the way on horseback. Spacekru hang back on foot, marvelling at the sights and smells. Trading taunts and inside jokes that Clarke will never understand. She realizes with a pang in her chest that she’s not the only one that had been building a family for the past six years. 

She doesn’t know what to say to them, this group of people she willingly sacrificed herself for again and again. These people she had given pieces of herself to until there was nothing and no one left but desert sand and desperation. 

Clarke had changed fundamentally since those painful months on the ground. She was no longer Wanheda, Commander of Death. Refused to be. 

She wondered how she would fit into the family they had built up there in zero gravity. Wondered if she even wanted to fit. 

When they finally reach the valley, Clarke hops off her horse and hands the reins to Freya. “Take them to the stable and then ask Rhea about accomodations okay?”

Freya nods and runs off, tossing a wave behind her back. Bellamy watches her little head of golden curls disappear behind a corner and lets himself wonder... 

“Freya was a goddess in Nordic mythology.” He says to Clarke, his eyes searching.

“I know.” She glances down, suddenly unable to look at him. “Lady of War and Death, Octavia talks about it all the time.”

“Yes.” The weight of his gaze burns her. “But also the goddess of Love and Beauty.” 

Harper touches Clarke’s hand. “It’s fitting. She’s so incredibly beautiful, Clarke. The loveliest little girl I’ve ever seen. Just like her mother.”

Clarke swallows past the lump in her throat and smiles at Harper. “Thank you.” She had been waiting for this exact day and moment since she found out she was pregnant. Too bad they were six years too late. 

Clarke clears her throat and gestures behind her. “Let me show you around.”

As she takes them through the little town, Bellamy takes note of Clarke’s interactions with Trikova kru. At the schoolhouse, a woman bows her head and embraces Clarke warmly. A farmer in the fields drops his tools and waves, smiling. Another man at the clinic nods his head in a clear show of respect. “Heda gon sonraun,” he murmurs. 

Children from every house and building they pass hang onto her skirts and sing louder and louder. “Heda gon sonraun! Heda gon sonraun!” 

“Commander of life.” Echo says finally. 

Clarke blushes and shrugs, clearly uncomfortable. “I don’t know why they call me that. I hold no power here.”

But she does. Every single person they meet extends a warm greeting or honours her in some way. Many beg her to come bless their dinner tables. They don’t just respect her, Bellamy realizes, they love her. 

Clarke finally stops at a cottage on the outskirts of the village painted a light eggshell blue. “Well? What did you think?”

“I like it,” says Emori. “It’s very peaceful.”

Bellamy nods. “There are no walls. No gates.” 

“No electric fences.” Raven adds, half disappointed.

There’s silence as the survivors of both the Dropship and Camp Jaha try to process this. 

Finally, “We are strangers.” Echo says. “And yet they do not question us. They do not fear us.” 

Clarke sighs. “They have forgotten to fear you. There hasn’t been anything to fear for more than six years. No one to fight. No clans or tribes to divide us. Our children wander freely and want for nothing.” Her voice breaks and she takes a moment to collect herself. “We have learned how to live again after decades of barely surviving.”

Clarke pauses and one by one, locks eyes with all of them. “We are at peace here. I have raised my daughter in peace here.” The threat is unspoken but there all the same. If you do anything to jeopardize that peace, to put my daughter at risk – I will destroy you. 

Bellamy holds her gaze the longest. They communicate in that silent way of theirs and finally Clarke nods, sighing in relief. She looks tired all of a sudden, pale and drawn and older than she is.

“Mama!” The tension dissipates as Freya throws open the cottage door and tumbles down the steps. 

Clarke barely has time to turn around before Freya is hugging her legs, chin on her belly. “Mama, I did what you asked. I also caught a butterfly. Can I go to the Greenhouse with Daphne and Greta? Please Mommy?”

Bellamy’s heart clenches painfully in his chest. He tries not to think about why. 

“Yes, baby. Go ahead. Be back before dark.” Freya smiles and takes off. 

“Remember how soft and quiet she was as a baby?” An unfamiliar woman closes the door of the cottage and makes her way towards Clarke. 

Clarke laughs. “We had no idea she would grow up to be such a little menace.”

“What did she decide?” The woman stops by Clarke’s side.

Clarke shakes her head, smiling sadly. “She decided not to.” The woman touches Clarke’s cheek and says something in Trigedasleng, her voice low and soothing. 

After a moment, the woman turns to them. “I’m Rhea.” She says simply. “I’m the leader of Trikova kru. Welcome to Shadow Valley.” She smiles warmly. “I have rooms set up for you in the clinic, and if you decide to stay, we’ll have permanent accomodations made.”

“If we decide to stay?” Murphy crosses his arms. 

“There’s a summit with Polis in 5 weeks. We can’t really spare the resources to make the journey too often, so we meet every 3 months. If you want to rejoin your families in the city, you can leave then.”

“But if we decide to stay?” Raven asks. Clarke can’t help but notice that Bellamy stays silent. Not that it’s any of her business where he chooses to live. It was barely her place 6 years ago, and it sure as hell isn’t her place now. 

“Then Shadow Valley will be your home.” Rhea continues, “As friends of Clarke’s, you will be warmly welcomed. Over the next week or so, you’ll be expected to help out and integrate yourself into whatever sector of the community you’re interested in.”

“Raven we could use your genius with our outdated tech,” adds Clarke. “Or Monty, your knowledge could really come in handy in the greenhouse.”

They both nod, the rest of the group looking more or less satisfied with these conditions. With that settled, Clarke checks her watch and turns to Bellamy. “Octavia’s usually busy at this time of day. And I bet you guys are tired after the journey you’ve had. How about Rhea shows you to your rooms? That gives you all a chance to get settled and maybe rest a bit before dinner. Come find me after and we’ll radio Octavia together.” 

“Together.” Bellamy sucks in a breath. “Yea, that sounds good.”

They turn to leave, Rhea in the lead, when Bellamy stops and faces Clarke again. “I’ll see you at dinner then?” 

Clarke smiles, a real smile this time. The one she used to reserve just for him. “I’ll see you at dinner, Bellamy.” Don’t worry, she almost says. I’m not going anywhere. 

\---

Bellamy arrives at the firepit to find Clarke already there, surrounded by her friends. Or maybe it would be more accurate to call them her family. She sits on a log, plate in hand, laughing at a story Rhea is telling. Freya and a dozen other children lay on the ground at her feet, toasting apples by the fire. Bellamy finds it hard to believe Clarke holds no power here when she has the ear of their leader. Even now, Bellamy can see the magnetic energy Clarke’s always possessed, drawing everyone in. Especially now that she’s warm and happy and safe. Open in a way she could never be before. From the youngest child to the weariest elder, they all lean in to hear her voice. They can’t help but watch her and listen to her and laugh at her jokes. Bellamy can’t say he blames them. He can’t even say he’s any different. 

Clarke notices him lurking at the edge of the firepit and shoots out of her seat, making her way over. For a moment, Bellamy thinks she’s about to hug him. But she only smiles, twisting her hands behind her back. He’s never seen her like this before, almost… nervous. 

“Bellamy! I’m glad you made it. Let’s go get you some food and then you can meet everyone.” She leads him to a table filled with fresh meat and cheese and Bellamy almost faints with pleasure. 

“Is that apple pie?” He exclaims. “God, Clarke. I haven’t had real food in years.” 

She laughs. “I’ll show you how we make it later.”

Bellamy fills two plates and follows her to the campfire at the center of the pit. He feels vaguely self-conscious as the women scan him head to toe, whispering to each other and bumping shoulders. The men are more subtle, sizing him up silently. Bellamy draws himself to his full height, pushes his shoulders back, half ready for a confrontation. 

“My friends.” Clarke begins, her voice alone silences the crowd. “Disha ste Bellamy. Em slip daun kom.” This is Bellamy. He fell from the sky. Bellamy marvels at her Trigedasleng, how natural and flawless it sounds falling off her tongue. 

“Belomi. Your knight, Heda?” A woman with light hair and a mischievous smile hollers from beside Rhea. “Well done.” Another woman, a friend of Clarke’s he’s guessing, whistles loudly. 

Clarke’s blush reaches her ears. He’s always loved that about her. She shoots a glare at the group of giggling women. “No, Penelope. My friend. I hope you all welcome him the way you welcomed me.” 

“Of course, Heda.” Penelope says evenly. “Any friend of Clarke’s is welcome here.” Her gaze lands on him. “Where are your other Sky people?”

“Probably still in the fields. They’re very glad to be back on the ground.” 

“Are you glad, Bellamy? To be back on earth?” Her voice has an edge to it. 

He glances at Clarke. “More than anything.” 

After a beat, Penelope smiles. “Well then, take a seat.”

\---

Bellamy sits on a wooden bench, feeling happy and peaceful for the first time in a long time. Legs stretched out, stomach full, just watching as his family and Clarke’s people mingle and trade stories. Raven’s hair and hands fly everywhere as she explains something animatedly to Penelope, apparently the town blacksmith. Monty and Harper are talking and laughing with the Greenhouse keeper, Cyrus, and his wife, Ester. Murphy is well, drunk. Emori and Echo have drawn a crowd trying to throw grapes into his open mouth. 

Bellamy blinks rapidly as a painful knot grows in his throat. The raw emotion must show on his face because beside him, Clarke touches his arm with concern. “What’s wrong?”

Bellamy doesn’t answer her at first. Finally, he sighs. “I’d forgotten what it looked like.”

“Forgotten what what looked like?” She asks softly. 

Bellamy closes his eyes. “Happiness. Peace. Joy.” He opens them and turns to her. The intensity in his gaze takes her aback. “On the ark, everything was about keeping Octavia safe and hidden and quiet. She was the quietest child I’d ever seen. She had to be. I can’t remember a single time she cried, even as a baby.” Bellamy stares into the fire, face clouded with memories. “Then when we got to the ground, the noise was deafening.” He sighs, touches her hand, tracing her knuckles absentmindedly. “We couldn’t have one moment of peace before another catastrophe dropped on our heads.”

Clarke shivers. “It’s hard to even think about. That I was only 18 when we crash landed on Earth. First we had to deal with the grounders, then the Mountain, then Alie-” 

“Then the end of the world.” Bellamy finished. “Then we went to space, where it was quiet and suffocating again. I wanted to be on the ground, even though it had never been kind to me.” Bellamy sucks in a breath. “And if I had known you were alive, I’d have wanted to be here with you.” His gaze is like a physical touch on her skin, tracing her eyes and nose and lips. It’s like he forgets about the distance he owes her. The reserve and coolness that she deserves after waiting and pining after him when he thought she was dead. 

Clarke is frozen with half-hearted fury and frustration. Her face goes pale and blank again. “Bellamy, I-” 

“So thank you.” He ploughs on. “Thank you for showing me what peace looks like. It’s a beautiful sight to see.”

Clarke eyes him for a second and nods. “It is, isn’t it?” He grins at her goofily and she can’t help but grin back. Clarke finds herself leaning in, falling into old patterns. She can feel his warmth on her skin, that woodsy Bellamy smell engulfing her like a blanket. She looks at him, really looks at him for the first time in six years. There’s more lines and wrinkles than she can remember. More freckles, too. His beard makes him look older, wiser. Far from the man that once said Whatever the hell we want and won the hearts of one hundred delinquents. 

But his eyes, god his eyes are exactly the same. Depths of deep molten brown that still make her weak in the knees. And somehow, after six years, the way he looks at her hasn’t changed. There’s joy and wonder and pain in his eyes, always a little bit of pain. Along with that indescribable emotion that she’s never had the courage to name. 

Bellamy tucks a lock of hair behind her ear, the movement instinctive. Something he’s done a million times before, but on a different planet, with a different Clarke. She opens her mouth to say something, to either pull him closer or push him away, she's not even sure, when a woman interrupts them. 

“Clarke, my period is two weeks late!” Bellamy is both confused and frustrated by this interruption. 

“Yasmine.” Clarke jumps away from him and clears her throat loudly. “The herbal tea worked then?” 

“Yes. Thank you, Heda.” Yasmine rubs her belly absentmindedly, completely oblivious to Clarke’s discomfort. “I’m just so happy. Thomas and I have been trying for months and months.”

Clarke softens. “Come see me in another two weeks for your first check-up okay?” 

Yasmine waves a hand. “Of course, I know the process.” She steps closer and takes one of Clarke’s hands between her own. “But Heda, would you…” She trails off and blushes faintly. “Would you bless the baby? Please?” 

Clarke’s smile slips a little. “Yasmine…” 

“Please, Clarke! I know you think it’s hocus pocus, but I’m not taking any chances.” 

Clarke’s resolve melts at Yasmine’s desperation. A hush falls over the firepit as she stands up. She cups Yasmine’s belly with two hands. “In peace may you enter this world and in love may you walk on it. Safe passage on your travels. Heda gon sonraun gives you her blessing.” Her voice ripples through the crowd. After a moment of stunned silence, wherein Bellamy catches Raven’s eye and raises his eyebrows, friends and family members come to hug and congratulate Yasmine. 

“Why do they call you that? Commander of life?” Bellamy asks when the focus eventually moves away from Clarke. 

A shadow crosses her face and leeches the colour from her skin. “Because of Freya. I figured out I was pregnant practically during Praimfaya. And I gave birth to her when the earth was still a wasteland, as far as the eye could see. They say-” She takes a deep breath. “They say I brought life to a world of death. The day after her birth, we saw the first flowers grow and the first crops sprout. In their… legends?” Clarke chokes on the word. “They say the earth was born again with Freya.” 

Clarke lets out a watery laugh. “Funny how the Commander of death can become the bringer of life, right?” 

“Mom! Are you really gonna cry again?” Freya appears out of nowhere and collapses at Clarke’s feet. “It’s not even a sad story! You’re the Heda and that makes me your princess.” 

Clarke hides her smile and sniffles some more. “Maybe Mommy would be less sad if the very kind and generous princess gave her a kiss?” 

Freya groans and gives Clarke a loud, smacking kiss on the cheek. “I’ll give you two more kisses in exchange for an extra bedtime story?” Clarke stares at her daughter blankly for a second before throwing her head back and laughing into the night sky. 

Bellamy chuckles lightly and rubs his jaw, staring blankly into the fire. Freya reminds him so much of Octavia that it scares him. Questions bubble up in his throat and he swallows them down. It’s not the right time or place. 

And honestly, he’s not ready for the answers.


	2. Chickens and Other Miracles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bellamy follows Clarke around all day. She's not exactly mad about it.

The next morning, Bellamy finds Clarke gardening in her front yard. She’s covered in dirt and flushed red with exertion. In the light of day, he can see all the ways Clarke’s made this blue ramshackle cottage her home. The wood gleams with a fresh coat of paint, clouds and trees that Clarke must have drawn herself stark against the blue background. There’s handmade door chimes hanging all around the wrap-around porch and a rocking chair by the door. The front garden is alive with colour. Calla lilies, roses, carnations, and a dozen other flowers he can’t name are planted mismatched and clashing all over the yard. 

The woman who planted them is bent over beside a row of tulips, humming away and apparently blind to the disorderly state of her garden. She only notices him when his boots appear directly before her downcast eyes. She gasps a little and squints up at him, shielding her eyes from the sun with a gloved hand. “Bellamy!” She grins. “I didn’t see you there.”

She stands up and wipes her hands on her already dirt-stained jeans. “What are you doing here so early?” 

Bellamy shrugs. “We didn’t have a chance to radio Octavia last night.” He pauses mid-sentence, suddenly nervous, and runs a hand through his hair. It feels wrong to ask Clarke of anything, even something as simple as this. 

“Oh, of course! I completely forgot.” She swings around and climbs the steps into the house, leaving the door open for him. Bellamy braces himself a bit and follows after her.

He finds himself in what he believes to be the living room. How surreal. He’s in Clarke’s living room. Clarke is alive, and she has a living room. It’s hard to wrap his head around. 

And her living room is… shit, it’s everything he always wished for growing up on the ark, everything a home should be. There’s a fireplace with pictures on the mantle, red lounge chairs and pelted blankets, a big wooden dining table and shelves full of books. There’s paintings crowding every wall, most of Freya… but there’s a lot of him, too. Bellamy’s studying one of him at the dropship when Clarke clears her throat behind him. She points to the computer set up on the dining table. “Ready?”

She waits for him to nod before sitting in front of the monitor. She fiddles with the buttons for a few seconds until Octavia appears on the screen. 

“Hey babe, I was just about to call you. Have you ended your dry spell yet? Because Odin just broke up with Selena and–”

“Octavia!” Clarke chokes a bit. “That’s not why I called. I have a surprise for you. But first I have to tell you that Freya didn’t do it.”

Octavia blanches immediately, shock stark on her pale face. “No…” 

Clarke nods at Bellamy, standing out of sight by the fireplace, and slowly rises from her spot in front of the monitor. Bellamy sinks into her vacated chair, his left arm flailing around before grasping her hand and holding it like a lifeline. 

A gasp sounds from the screen and Bellamy finally lets himself look at his baby sister. She’s… older than he remembers. Her face hardened by time. She’s almost the same age he was when they landed on the ground. A woman now at twenty-two when he had never stopped thinking of her as sixteen. He’s overwhelmed, stunned to the point of hysteria. 

“Bell,” Octavia whispers, her face crumbling. “I thought you were dead.” She bursts into tears. The sound of Octavia’s choked sobbing bounces off the walls, echoing through the room. 

Bellamy can’t help it… he starts laughing. Clarke’s jaw practically hits the floor

“Why are you–” Octavia hiccups and rubs her nose on her sleeve, “laughing?” 

“Because after all these years, you’re still an ugly crier.” Bellamy gasps out in between breathless laughter. 

It only takes a moment before his puffy-eyed, snot-nosed, tomato-red sister starts screaming bloody murder: “How dare you! I haven’t seen you in six years and this is the crap I have to deal with? Just wait until I get my hands on you!” 

Bellamy only laughs harder, gasping and snorting and slapping his knees as tears stream down his face. 

Eventually he raises his hands in mock surrender. “I’m sorry, okay?” He wipes his eyes. “I just missed you! I even missed your ugly crying.” He smiles a charming, cheshire-cat smile. 

Octavia crosses her arms, still sniffing a bit. “Well I guess I missed you too, big brother.” She says begrudgingly. 

Bellamy softens. “I wish I was there to give you a hug.” He stares at his empty arms, feeling their separation like a physical ache. 

“I know you do.” Octavia searches his face. “But you’re coming to Polis soon right? To be with me?” 

Bellamy hesitates for only a moment. Clarke holds her breath. “Of course.”

Clarke flinches beside him. She squeezes his hand before leaving the room to give the two siblings some privacy. 

\---

After his call with Octavia, Bellamy finds Clarke in the backyard, feeding the… chickens? She’s hunched down on her knees, offering them food from the palm of her hand. “Raven! Wait your turn! Freddie needs to eat too. And if you bite my finger one more time, I swear I’ll–”

“Raven?” Bellamy asks. Clarke whirls around in surprise. He watches the blush crawl up her neck and ears. 

She laughs self-consciously. “Yes, well. I ran out of names.” She points at the black-feathered chicken, “That’s Raven. She has an attitude problem.” 

“I’ll be sure to send the real Raven your regards.” Bellamy chuckles. 

Clarke huffs, then picks up another chicken and nuzzles its head. “This one’s Monty, because he’s so sweet.” 

“What about me? Do I have a chicken named after me?” 

“Yes, of course.” Clarke says, mock serious. “I bestowed that honour upon Bellamy junior over there.” She points to a brown chicken, larger than the rest, watching over the others from a distance. He’s very serious-looking, or as serious as a chicken can ostensibly be. Like a King protecting his subjects from afar. 

Clarke walks over and strokes Bellamy junior’s little chicken head. “He’s always thinking, and very protective. Almost as broody as his namesake, don’t you think?” She winks at him.

Bellamy tries not to smile. “Why do you have all these chickens in the first place?”

“Ask Freya. Every day she comes home with a new ‘pet’. I might as well turn this place into a farm.” 

“Mommy!” A voice yells from somewhere in the forest. 

Clarke wiggles her eyebrows at him. “Speak of the devil.”

A golden flurry shoots out of the forest and into Clarke’s open arms. Before Bellamy can even blink, Freya is crawling all over Clarke like a little blonde monkey. Clarke swings her around and kisses her nose and forehead. “Where have you been all day, little one?” 

Freya lets out of a string of words in Trigedasleng, too fast for him to understand. Clarke hums along as Freya gestures wildly. 

“And then,” Freya says, switching to English. “I met some goats!” 

Clarke’s face falls. She groans, burying her head in her hands. “This can’t be happening.” She mumbles. 

“No way,” Bellamy’s hunched over laughing beside her. 

Freya eyes him up and down. “Yes way,” she says seriously. 

Freya turns back to the forest and whistles. There’s a moment of silence punctuated by Bellamy’s choked laughter, followed by a small stampede of hooves. Clarke bends over at the waist as a herd of what looks like eight goats march out of the forest. Small gasps escape her lips as she half laughs and half sobs. 

“You have got to be kidding me.” She whispers as a two-headed goat glides up to them. One head nudges Clarke’s hand while the other nibbles on Bellamy’s boot. 

“That’s Harold. He’s my best goat friend” Freya says casually. As if it’s completely normal to have friends that are goats, let alone best friends that are goats. 

Clarke straightens to her full height and fixes Freya with a stern look. “Now Freya…” 

“Mommy we can’t leave them alone in the forest! Who will tuck them in and kiss them goodnight? What if they get scared of the dark? Who will feed them and take care of them and love them?” Freya’s eyes are big and pleading. 

“Freya honey, goats don’t get scared of the dark.” Clarke sighs. 

“Mommy, please.” Freya says tearily. “Please can we keep them?” 

Clarke crosses her arms. Uncrosses them. Shuffles her feet. Finally she groans. “Fine.” 

Freya throws her hands in the air and twirls around. Laughing and dancing with joy, tears apparently forgotten. 

“But I’m not taking care of them! Your goats, your responsibility. You better build a pen for them and find something to feed them, and…” Clarke’s voice drowns out as Freya takes Bellamy’s hand and spins him around. Clarke stews in her defeat a bit, grumbling and stomping her feet dramatically. Eventually she caves and joins them. Clarke picks up Monty the chicken and prances him around the yard. Freya shrieks with laughter as Harold tries to eat her hair, and Bellamy attempts to give the goat a scolding.

And the three of them continue to dance and revel in the silent melody of the forest. Until they all collapse, exhausted and giggling, on the forest floor. 

\---

"God fucking damn it." A grounder woman named Ester swears under her breath. Bellamy flinches. 

"I really don't think I need to be here." He whispers to Clarke, who's standing at the edge of the examination table with a huge spatula-looking thing in her hand. They're at the clinic, where Clarke apparently has her own Gynecologist office and midwifery practice. 

Clarke glares at him as Ester lets out a string of curses that make him blush all the way down to his toes. "You were the one," Clarke points the spatula at him, "who wanted to help me with my afternoon appointments." 

Bellamy holds her gaze. "That was before I knew what kind of doctor you are," he says pointedly. 

"Unbelievable!" Ester bursts out. "Men are all the same. They want to be present for the fun part but refuse to deal with the consequences of their actions." She says, furiously gesturing to her pregnant belly. “Like my stupid husband! I am literally growing his goddamn child in my body and he won’t even show up to appointments! Says he can’t stomach it! Bullshit! It’s not like he’s the one about to have a stick lodged up her–” 

"Ester." Bellamy says placatingly. All this yelling can’t be good for the baby. He leans over to gently touch her hand. "I don't mind staying for the exam, I just thought you might be uncomfortable." The anger melts off her face as Bellamy fits a pillow beneath her head. "And for the record, your husband is an idiot," he continues. "If it were my baby, nothing and no one could stop me from being at every appointment and check-up."

A clang sounds behind him as Clarke drops the spatula. "I'll be, um." She closes her eyes. "I'll be right back." 

Bellamy frowns with concern. "Clarke–" 

Ester's hand latches onto his arm like a vice. "Let her be." 

Bellamy's frown deepens as the door clicks closed. "She's upset." 

Ester smiles sadly. "Yes. But there's nothing you can do about it." 

Bellamy glances at her baby bump. "It's because she did this all alone, isn't it?" 

Ester nods, squeezing his hand. 

He stares at his hands and thinks of his mother. "She must have been terrified.”

"Clarke?" She laughs. "Never. Clarke was fierce, like a warrior riding into battle. She wore desperation like battle armour, fear like war paint." Ester was one of the first to meet Clarke, riding in on her black horse, starved and half dead. "But she was also... quiet. Lonely. And so very sad." Ester’s gaze is heavy, almost accusatory. "She missed you dearly." Bellamy’s knees buckle painfully. 

His eyes shine with unshed tears. "We missed her more, trust me." He whispers.

Both Clarke and Bellamy clear their throats and avert their eyes when she re-enters the room. 

"Alright." Bellamy says, diffusing the tension. "Let's do this." He snaps on a pair of plastic gloves, bracing himself for a new kind of battle.

Both women laugh in his face, of course.

\---

Bellamy's sitting in Clarke's kitchen later that day, watching her make dinner. Things are awkward without another person to buffer the tension between them. Freya is having dinner at a friend's, patients have gone home for the day, and Clarke's friends shy away at the mere sight of him. The temperature in the room had been skyrocketing ever since they entered the house. Made worse by the fact that Bellamy had refused to leave her side all day. He could see that Clarke was dying to ask why he was hovering. And he wouldn't even be able to answer her. What was wrong with him?

Even thinking about walking away from her made fear take hold in his chest. It was hard for Bellamy to come to terms with the fact that he was afraid. Truly afraid. It was a foreign feeling, after six years in space. After six years of thinking she was dead. He had forgotten what it felt like. To look at someone and know that you would do anything and everything for them. That a part of you would die if they did. And a part of him, a big part of him, had died with Clarke all those years ago.

He watches her now, cutting vegetables at the sink, swaying to the tinkling music of the wind chimes. Golden hair shining like a halo around her head, set ablaze by the sunlight filtering in through the open window. 

"Clarke..." Her name escapes his lips before he can stop himself. 

She turns to find him staring at her. Her brow furrows with concern. "Yes?" 

He opens his mouth to say he doesn't know what... I missed you? I still need you? He chokes down the words. 

What comes out is: "I don't want to fight anymore." 

Clarke sets the knife down on the cutting board. "What?" She asks, brows high on her forehead. 

Bellamy rubs the back of his neck, thinking fast. "I don't want to be a hunter or a warrior anymore. I'm tired of fighting." 

Clarke stares at him. 

He shrugs sheepishly. "In this new Shadow society of yours." 

"Alright." She shakes her head a bit, baffled. "What do you want to be then? This place is a second chance for everyone." 

Bellamy sighs. “I’m not even sure. I was trained as a guard on the Ark, that's the only skill I really have." 

Clarke's eyes crinkle at the corners. "You're kidding right?" She nearly laughs. "Bellamy..." She leans over and cups his cheek. He closes his eyes and leans into her touch. "You're the most talented man I know. You could do, well, whatever the hell you want." They both chuckle. "Anything you set your heart and mind to." She places her other hand over his heart, reenacting a familiar scene, forever seared into his memory. 

Clarke holds his gaze until he nods. "Okay." He says quietly, placing his hand over hers on his chest. "Okay." 

Clarke searches his face for a moment before smiling. She goes back to making dinner and he goes back to watching her make dinner. Comfortable silence drapes the room, and Bellamy thinks the conversation is over, when Clarke suddenly turns around. "A history teacher!" She exclaims, knife in hand. 

He nearly topples over at her outburst. "Excuse me?" 

"You should be a history teacher!" She uses the knife to emphasize her point, waving it in the air like a teacher taking attendance. 

Bellamy rubs his jaw. "A history teacher?" He grins at her. "I did teach Octavia all the Classics." 

"It's perfect!" She points at him, still holding the knife. "You'll make such a great teacher, I just know you will." 

"Okay! Alright!" Bellamy raises his arms and pretend to protect his head. "Whatever you say. Have mercy, woman!" 

Clarke glares at him, lips turning up at the corners, and throws a towel at his face. 

\--- 

That night, Bellamy and Clarke arrive at the firepit to find their friends already there. Murphy throws a rock from hand to hand. "I was wondering where Bellamy disappeared to all day." He smirks. Bellamy resists the urge to smack him. 

Emori elbows Murphy in the gut ("Ow! Seriously!"), and gestures to the unlit fire pits. "Do you know what's going on?" She asks Clarke. Bellamy notices for the first time that people have gathered in groups, carrying backpacks and other travelling supplies. 

Clarke shrugs, smiling. "I don't want to ruin the surprise." 

"I hope this isn't a Grounder orgy ritual." Monty jokes.

Raven slings an arm over his shoulder. "I hope it is," she says, grinning playfully. 

Their squabbling is interrupted by Rhea, who spreads her arms out wide and addresses the crowd. "Trikova Kru. Peace be with you. May the shadows bless you" 

Bellamy jumps when Clarke and the rest of the villagers chant back to her: "And may the shadows bless you!" There are whoops and howls of joy, their voices blending together to create a single, powerful entity. 

A horde of children wearing gruesome masks and battle armour, holding torches and weapons, materialize from the darkness. They weave in and out of sight, one moment cutting a grisly figure and the next – nothing. A shadow. He can make Freya out by her wild blonde hair. The children gather at the center of the pit and jump on the ashes of yesterday's fire. Dancing in a circle, they sing in a language he doesn't understand, voices growing louder as the crowd cheers them on. 

Rhea's hands rise higher and higher in the sky as the people dissolve into a joyous chorus of stomping feet and disjointed chanting. The ground shakes and Bellamy’s ears ring at the all-consuming chaos. Just as the noise becomes overwhelming, Rhea's arms cut the air and fall to her sides. The voices drop immediately, silence now strange and liquid in the moonlight. After a stunned moment in which the newcomers exchange alarmed glances, Rhea spins on her heel and walks into the dark wilderness. Bellamy watches Harper's jaw drop, "what..." 

Clarke touches a finger to her lips and gestures with her other hand. "Follow me." She mouths. 

The crowd parts as Clarke and Freya move to follow Rhea into the forest. Most of the faces they pass are silent and unmoving, but Penelope and a few others smile reassuringly. The crowd falls in behind Clarke, and soon they all melt into the shadows without a trace. 

\--- 

"They're gonna sacrifice us, not have sex with us!" Raven whispers urgently behind Bellamy. This time Murphy's the one to cuff her in the back of the head. "Shh! I'm scared enough as it is." Echo, silent until now, giggles uncontrollably. Rather than reassure Bellamy, Echo’s laughter is more than a little alarming. 

They walk for a long time, splitting off into two's and three's as the path gets narrower. Bellamy finds himself directly behind Murphy, who snaps a branch into his face twice. The shadow clan treads carefully for a time, feet silent and stealthy despite the rough terrain. Bellamy and his friends however, used to the flatness of the Ark, trample and stumble along, making enough noise to wake a sleeping bear. 

Finally, after what seems like a never-ending climb, they arrive on a grassy stretch of land at the top of what must be a mountain. Bellamy has absolutely no clue what they’re doing on a mountain in the middle of nowhere. He touches Clarke's arm and shakes his head, trying to convey his frustration. She chuckles and points at the sky. He tilts his head up and gasps. The stars are out in the millions, infinite and blinding in their brilliance. Bellamy blinks hard. He's never seen anything more beautiful in his life. 

People start to lay out blankets and pillows on the hillside. "We're stargazing?" He asks Clarke. 

"Is that so hard to believe?" She shrugs. "Praimfaya ruined something in the atmosphere. Now we can only enjoy the stars like this once a year." 

Rhea comes up behind them and lays a hand on Clarke's shoulder. "The most rare flowers are after all the most beautiful." The two women exchange a fond look. Bellamy balks at the depth of emotion in Clarke's eyes. The kind of steady trust forged from love and pain and experience. He isn't used to Clarke looking at anyone but him like that. Pain slices through his chest and he firmly shakes it off. Clarke doesn't owe him anything. 

A gaggle of children intrude on his pity party when they march up to Clarke and pull on her skirts demandingly. "Yes gufas?" She smiles at them.

"Heda gon sonraun." A boy murmurs, nodding respectfully. "Would you bless us with your sky stories?" His green eyes track her movements with a mixture of awe and fear.

"I would love to." She says, ruffling his hair. "But–" The boy lets out a whoop of joy before she can finish her sentence and the children practically carry her to the top of the hill. The people, settled on various blankets, shush each other as Clarke opens her mouth to speak. 

"My friends!" She says, voice low but commanding. "I am honoured that you have chosen me once again as your storyteller. But today, I pass the torch to our new history teacher, Bellamy Blake!" The crowd cheers.

Bellamy freezes. Clarke waits expectantly on the hilltop, cutting a golden shadow against the night sky behind her. Rooted to his feet, he doesn’t move until Raven shoves him a little. Bellamy stumbles a bit but catches himself, walking on liquid legs to take his place beside Clarke. 

"Clarke.” He slides up to her, his stormy expression promising payback. “Just what do you think you’re doing?" He whispers into her ear, feigning a smile. 

Clarke has the audacity to wink at him. "You're the best storyteller I know. I'm sure you know more than me about constellations anyway. Now go knock 'em dead." She takes a seat in the front row and smiles encouragingly. Freya flashes him a thumbs up from beside her.

Bellamy glares at Clarke for a moment then sighs. The adrenaline kicks in and hums through his veins. Leaning into the crowd as if letting them in on a secret, he starts to tell a story. One of many. "Once upon a time,” he points at a constellation, “there was a woman named Cassiopeia..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you thank you THANK YOU for all the feedback on Chapter 1! I've decided to try to update every one or two weeks, it really depends on you guys. I promise I'll write faster the more you guys encourage me! 
> 
> This chapter is full of fluff and more of a fleshed out exposition to the story. I have a lot planned in terms of angst so I thought I'd give Bellarke some happiness before I make them suffer lmao. And for those of you who love smut, that will also come soon :) Let me know what you thought of this chapter! Even just a Kudos makes my day!!


	3. Old McDonald had a Goat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke and Bellamy grow closer. Spacekru finds their place in this fledging society. Bellamy bonds with Freya in a really unexpected way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is more or less unedited, and I'm not really happy with it but I was tired of staring at it. Also I promised two week updates! I hope you guys enjoy, and I've really hit a motivation stump (mostly due to low confidence in my writing skills), so kudos! comment! please! Writing fanfic can be like shouting into a void, do you guys read it? like it? I just want to know! And if you want to yell at me or discuss or ANYTHING, come find me at @toomuchdamage on Tumblr. Don't be shy! I would love to hear from you. 
> 
> On another note, I know this chapter is short and fluffy but next chapter is gonna be a shit show so BUCKLE UP.

Bellamy slips into Clarke’s life the way you ease into an old pair of well-loved shoes. It takes them less than a month to fall into a sort of routine. Every morning, Bellamy 'swings by’ on his way to the schoolhouse and drags Clarke out of bed. She’s famously cranky in the morning and communicates almost exclusively in grunts until Bellamy gives in and makes her pancakes. Clarke usually walks Freya and Bellamy to school on the way to the clinic. After a few weeks, people even stop staring. But the three of them get an odd look every now and again. Clarke tries really hard not to think about why.

In the afternoons, Bellamy likes to show up at her doorstep uninvited, with the intention of fixing a leaky pipe or loose tile that he supposedly noticed the day before. Though he usually ends up reading on the porch. Clarke can’t really complain, she enjoys his company. Maybe a little too much. She preens like a cat when he plays with her hair, laughs with delight when he shimmies around in his socks. 

Today he arrives with a present, an apron he made himself, and she really wants to just jump into his arms. She settles for a kiss on the cheek, followed by a punch to the ribs when she realizes the big, pink words: “Princess Clarke,” stitched on the front. 

Bellamy just pokes her in the stomach. “What’s for dinner, Princess?”

“No dinner for you!” Clarke opens the door and points into the night. “You can eat with the goats for all I care.” She sniffs.

Bellamy snorts and ignores her, walking into the living room. He collapses on the couch. “Clarke,” he whines. “The kids are so mean to me. I need nourishment to withstand their wrath.” 

Clarke jumps onto the couch and wacks him in the face with a pillow. He guffaws. “What was that for?” She shrugs, then swings her feet into his lap and twinkles her toes. “I may be swayed to rethink my initial assessment.” Bellamy laughs and digs his thumbs into the arch of her right foot. “Yes, your majesty.” Clarke ignores the comment and sighs with pleasure. Bellamy has all her pressure points memorized at this point. 

Clarke props her head up to look at him. “What did the kids do this time?” 

“They called me…” Bellamy groans, dragging a hand down his face. “They called me old.” He chokes on the last word. 

Clarke hides a smile and clicks her tongue sympathetically. “You’re not that old. It’s not your fault that you give off a grumpy grandpa vibe.” 

Bellamy presses down on a particularly tender spot and she yelps. “I’m not old!” He exclaims. 

“Ow! Okay fine! You’re not a day over 30.” 

“I’m 28!” Bellamy tilts his head back to rest on the couch. “Teaching these kids is really messing with my self-esteem.” He huffs. 

Clarke sits up and squeezes his shoulder. “But you love it, right? You’re happy?” 

“Yea.” Bellamy softens under her touch. “I love those little rascals. I love everything about this place.” Especially you. 

Clarke smiles, eyes crinkling. “Good.” She pinches his bicep. “Then stop whining.” 

Clarke melts back into the couch and Bellamy starts in on her other foot. Clarke really wants to sit on his lap and snuggle into his chest, but holds herself back. It’s moments like these when Clarke has to draw a clear boundary in her head. Mostly because she’s a coward. But also because it’s not like she and Bellamy were ever lovers, at least not in the traditional sense of the word. The closest they had ever come to admitting their feelings were a few stolen touches and frantic kisses here and there. And look how that turned out.  
Clarke is shaken out of her thoughts when the front door slams. “Honey, I’m home!” Murphy calls from the hallway. 

Bellamy groans, “why is he here again?” Clarke laughs. This is the second time Clarke’s invited everyone over for dinner. She’s hoping it’ll become a tradition. Not that that stops Bellamy from complaining. He’s basically a hermit at this point. A hermit who never leaves her house. 

Murphy, Emori, and Echo appear in the living room. “Now what do we have here?” Murphy taunts, arms crossed. Bellamy and Clarke jump apart a second too late for it to be casual. A flush appears high on Clarke’s cheekbones, but Bellamy just chuckles and gets up to give Murphy a one-armed hug. 

Clarke gets off the couch too but pauses at the sight of Murphy’s dirt-stained clothes. “Rough day in the fields, Old Mcdonald?” Murphy has surprisingly really taken to farming, which is a shock to literally everyone but him. Apparently he was born into a long line of farmers, and his Dad tried to teach him about agriculture before he died. 

Murphy scowls at her. “You won’t be complaining when you try the fresh multi-grain bread I made!” 

Emori kisses his cheek. “Honey, you know we’re all proud of you and your dashing farmer wholesome-ness.” Murphy slings an arm around her waist and puffs out his chest. “Damn straight.”

Echo pushes past both of them with a sickened look on her face and grabs Clarke by the shoulders. “I just spent the whole day with Emori and her endless gushing.” Echo and Emori had fallen into the scavenging division of the clan. Due to their collective resourcefulness, the village now had access to two new bunkers. “Please tell me you have the alcohol.” Echo’s obsessed with Clarke’s special strawberry wine, and after six years of algae, who could blame her?” 

Clarke snorts and heads into the kitchen, Bellamy following close behind. “When’s Freya getting here? I brought her a history book I stole from the library.” Clarke ignores him, reaching for the wine cupboard on her tippie toes. 

Bellamy sidesteps her and grabs a bottle out of the cabinet, setting it down in front of her. He gives her a pleading look. Clarke’s notoriously tight-lipped when it comes to Freya. He noticed early on that Freya acted cold and distant around him, but chalked it up to a healthy distrust of strangers. That theory was shot down when he realized how well she got along with the others. Freya loves ‘Auntie Raven’, follows her around like a three-foot shadow, and spends most days in the forge with her and Penelope. She loves sleeping over at Monty and Harper’s little cottage by the greenhouse. And she even has a teasing banter going on with Murphy. She seems to get along with everyone but Bellamy. But whenever he brings it up to Clarke, she shuts down. 

Clarke smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “She’s with Raven. They should get here any minute now.” She takes the wine bottle and turns to leave the kitchen. Bellamy catches her other hand.  
“I know she doesn’t really like history.” I know she doesn’t really like me, he wants to say. “But The Iliad was my favourite book when I was her age.” 

“Bellamy–” Clarke starts. How does she tell him that Freya actually loves history?

“We’re going to be reading it in class soon. But this way she could get ahead, right?” They can both hear the desperation in his voice. For a tense moment, they just stare at each other. 

Clarke cracks first. She’s seen how the children sit on his lap and pull at his hair. How even the oldest kids hang off his every word at the campfires. How the littlest ones slobber on his cheek. It makes her heart physically ache. “Not every kid has to adore you, you know.” She says, squeezing his hand.

Bellamy squeezes her hand right back. “Your kid does.” He whispers. 

She huffs. “My kid likes you just fine, don’t be such a nerd.” She hip-checks him on her way out of the kitchen. He rubs his face in defeat and follows after her. 

Monty and Harper arrive then, followed by Raven and Freya. Penelope and Rhea, along with a few more of Clarke friends, arrive last. Clarke runs back and forth between the kitchen and the living room, setting out the meal she had been working on all afternoon. Bellamy sets up the adults with extra chairs at the dining table, and the small group of children on the couch. To his delight, Clarke dons the apron he made for her and doesn’t take it off for the rest of the night. 

After a flurry of activity that both Bellamy and Clarke secretly revel in, everyone sits down for dinner. The group swaps stories and jokes, occasionally interrupted by the talent show Freya’s decided to put on. Clarke preens with pride as her daughter sings a dubious rendition of ‘I Will Always Love You.’ She blushes more fiercely than ever when everyone compliments her on her cooking. Bellamy tries not to stare, he really does. But it’s close to impossible when Clarke’s flushed with happiness and laughing joyfully. He might claim to hate these get-togethers, but he probably loves them more than anyone. It’s a chance for Bellamy and Clarke to work in tandem, communicate wordlessly, just like the old days. It’s a chance to see everything they’ve sacrificed so much for. Their big dopey family, together again. 

After dinner, Echo whips out an ancient backgammon board she found in one of the bunkers. And Clarke sets up a game of poker with an old deck of playing cards. Everyone’s having a grand time, robbing Murphy blind, when a crack of thunder shakes the window panes. 

“Mommy.” Freya jumps off of Harper’s lap. She runs to Clarke’s chair, white-faced. 

“Honey, it’s just a thunderstorm.” Clarke smooths down Freya’s hair. 

Tears line Freya’s eyes, “Mama, the goats… I let them out to play.”

Clarke barely stifles a curse. She exchanges a look with Rhea. “I’m sure they’ll be fine, sweetheart. We can’t go out in a thunderstorm, you know that.”

Freya hides her face in Clarke’s chest and whimpers. “What if something happens.” Her voice breaks. “It’ll be my fault.” Her cries are like a punch to Bellamy’s gut.

He hesitantly reaches out a hand to rub her back. “Hey, it’s okay.” Freya turns her chin. Mother and daughter look at him with identical baby-blue eyes. “We can see the stable from the back porch, I’m sure Harold and his friends are back in their pens.” 

He goes to the kitchen to find the flashlight he left under the sink. Grabbing it, he returns to the living room, wielding the flashlight like a lightsaber. “Let’s do this.” Freya stand up and wipes some snot on her sleeve, in a move eerily similar to Octavia. She takes his outstretched hand, and Bellamy grins at Clarke over her head. They throw on rain jackets and head for the backdoor. Clarke trails behind, hovering and worrying like the mother hen she is. Bellamy opens the door and smiles reassuringly back at Clarke. “It’ll be fine, we won’t even get wet.”

“Wait” Before he can close the door behind him, she grabs onto his arm with both hands. “Thunderstorms are different now, post-Praimfaya. More dangerous.” Her jaw is set, but she looks scared. “Be careful.”

Bellamy tugs at a strand of hair falling out of her ponytail. “I’m always careful.” He says softly, “I would never put Freya in danger.” 

“It’s not Freya I’m worried about. Don’t be a hero, okay?” She pleads. 

Bellamy nods. “Don’t worry.” He says, and lets the door fall shut behind him. 

Outside, Freya tugs on his hand, and Bellamy hands her the flashlight. “You aim the light and I count, okay?” She nods, determined. 

Freya and Bellamy peer into the thrashing rain for a while, hands locked together. Finally, Bellamy turns to face Freya. “I count nine.” She takes a shaky breath, and he freezes as tears start to stream down her chubby cheeks. “Me too.” She whispers, “Harold’s missing.”

Freya falls into his side and Bellamy almost stops breathing. He hesitates, but when she wraps her arms around his legs and starts crying into his jeans, Bellamy picks her up and squeezes her close to his chest. “Shh baby, it’s okay.” He whispers soothingly. He kisses her curls and lays his cheek on her head as the rain falls heavy around them. Rocking her back and forth, he waits patiently for her to stop crying. “I’m going to find him, don’t worry.” He says. Freya nods tightly, eyes red and nose runny. 

Bellamy opens the door and transfers Freya into Clarke’s open arms. Before Clarke can yell at him, Bellamy swings around and makes a break for the stable. Clake curses under her breath, “that idiot. I’m gonna kill him.” 

Mother and daughter hold onto each other by the open door, Clarke holding her breath for a familiar head of curls to appear. They hold their vigil as 10 painstaking minutes go by and there’s still no sign of him. Clarke’s friends and family crowd around her, and just as she’s made up her mind to go after him, a goat runs up the porch steps, followed by a soaking-wet Bellamy. The little group gathered at the door cheers. Bellamy holds out his arms and bows. “Harold was hiding in the bushes, folks.” 

When he gets close enough, Clarke slams her tiny fists into his chest. “I told you!” A punch. “Not to be!” Another punch. “A hero!” Bellamy barely flinches and gathers her up in a hug. She can’t help it, she absolutely melts into his arms. After Freya kisses both of Harold’s heads, she squeezes in between Clarke and Bellamy and snuggles into Bellamy’s stomach. “Thank you, Bell.” She says into his belly, holding on tight. 

And as Bellamy runs a hand through Freya’s hair, looking on at his family, and his friends, and the goddamn goat eating his shoe – he knows everything’s gonna be just fine.


	4. Isn't She Lovely

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More fluff, I can't be helped. Also, Bellamy and Clarke rekindle the flames...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys. I actually can't write angst, please accept this instead. I have done literally EVERYTHING to avoid writing the angst that's about to shake up the story, and I actually have no choice but to write it next chapter. I just hate to cause Bellamy and Clarke any more unrest, haven't they been through enough? All my procrastination also means that this fic will be much much longer than expected, I'm thinking 15 chapters at least. 
> 
> Anyway, COMMENT! KUDOS! I literally die when I get a notification, so thank you THANK YOU to those who commented last chapter, you guys are the real champs. Also any sort of feedback, good or bad, is appreciated. I've said before that I'm very new to writing, so if anyone's willing to extend constructive criticism - I'm ready and willing to take it. 
> 
> With that said, enjoy!

After that fateful night now forever dubbed the "Goat Disaster," Bellamy and Freya grow closer. Hell, they practically become best friends. Instead of finding excuses to leave the house when Bellamy comes over, Freya eagerly awaits his arrival. Every day, like clockwork, she finishes her homework in a hurry and almost falls down the stairs to answer the door when Bellamy knocks. 

They have the same taste in music, exclusively singing and dancing around the house to classic pop divas. Bellamy introduces Freya to Taylor Swift and Clarke almost rips his head off (though ‘You Belong With Me’ may or may not be her favourite song). And after Bellamy realizes Freya actually likes history, they decide to read every historical novel in the library together. Unsurprisingly, they both also have an incredible talent for driving Clarke crazy, sneaking cookies before dinner and illegally harbouring the chickens in the house. 

But it's clear to everyone that Clarke's the happiest she's been in years. And it's even more clear who's to thank for Clarke's rise in spirits. To Bellamy's surprise, the villagers start to address him on a first-name basis. To his mortification, a lot of them take Penelope's lead in calling him Clarke's knight in shining armour. As if Clarke Griffin ever needed saving. 

Bellamy and Freya are in the backyard, supposedly feeding the chickens but actually just throwing mud at each other, when Clarke calls them in for lunch. They hose off in the garden, while Clarke looks on from the porch and fails spectacularly at the disapproving glare. The effect is ruined by the hot pink apron she's wearing and the serious frizz in her hair due to the heat. ("Mama you look like Dolly!") 

After lunch, Freya insists on making apple pie. Last week, Clarke had gone out to the orchids when it was Bellamy's turn to cook. Bellamy and Freya had managed to make a pretty phenomenal Pancit, a traditional Filipino dish. And Clarke had come home with more apples than she knew what to do with. 

Bellamy turns to Clarke from where he's doing the dishes at the sink. "Do we have enough apples for pie?" 

"Bell. We're going to be having apples for breakfast, lunch, and dinner at this point. I might try to make dolls out of them." Clarke laughs. 

Bellamy rolls his eyes. "As long as you remember to make one for Harold, I'm not complaining." 

"What is with you and that goat?" Clarke asks playfully. 

"I'm not the one living on a farm!" Bellamy says in challenge, stepping closer. 

"I'm not the one obsessed with a goat!" Clarke shoots back, tilting her head back to sneer at him. 

"Jealous, princess?" Bellamy smirks down at her, crowding her into the table. 

"In your dreams." She scoffs, crossing her arms over her chest to hide the flush soaring up her neck. 

There's a crash as Freya jumps out of her chair, knocking it to the floor. "Can you guys stop flirting and-" 

"Flirting?” Clarke interrupts, alarmed. “Where did you learn that word, young lady?" 

"Auntie Raven." She mumbles, flippantly. "Just make me some apple pie!" 

A pause. Freya looks at the both of them uncertainly. Stomps her foot. "Please?" She exclaims.

Clarke’s frozen, mouth gaping open. Bellamy takes control and places both hands on Freya's shoulders, spinning her around. "Let's go get those apples, princess." 

By the time they return to the kitchen, Clarke seems a bit more composed. She avoids Bellamy’s gaze, moving to set all the ingredients out on the counter. She takes the apples from him (dropping a few when their hands accidentally brush), and places them on the cutting board. "You cut the apples and I'll make the dough, okay?" She says, eyes fixated on a spot just behind his head. 

He hums, trying to ignore the wave of awkward tension crackling between them. He takes a knife and gets to cutting, watching out of the corner of his eye as Clarke and Freya start on the dough. 

When he's halfway through the apples, he hears a yelp and turns to find Clarke covered in flour and egg yolk. Freya has her hand in the mixing bowl, frozen and white-faced. There's a heavy pause as the three of them just stare at each other. The silence is broken when Bellamy and Freya start to giggle. They throw their heads back at the same time and start full-on cackling. Clarke can't decide whether she wants to yell or cry. They look like two evil, curly haired twins. She settles on cracking an egg over each of their heads. Bellamy gasps and Freya lets out a war cry. 

Soon they're on opposite sides of the kitchen, two against one. Clarke uses a chair as a shield and catapults eggs while Freya and Bellamy stick to flour and apple slices. At one point, Harold (Bellamy Junior riding on his back) wanders in and get caught in the crossfire. Clarke gains the upper hand when Bellamy gets distracted feeding them apple slices. But Freya, in typical Griffin fashion, rolls under the table and stealthily dumps the entire bag of flour over Clarke's head. 

Later, when Freya's in the bath, Bellamy and Clarke stay behind in the kitchen. Still soaked in egg yolk and other questionable substances, they finish prepping the pie. Dough laid out, Clarke places the apple slices in an elaborate pattern, tongue sticking out a bit in concentration. She silently asks for Bellamy's approval, with a quirk of her eyebrow. Bellamy cocks his head, considering, then adds a big lopsided heart on top. 

Bellamy watches her face break into a smile. And with nothing and no one to interrupt them, he lets himself appreciate the laugh lines forming at the corners of her eyes. He wipes some flour off her cheek, entranced by the rosy hue blooming stark along her milky skin. Bellamy’s hand lingers, tilting her face to give him a better view. The smile slips off Clarke’s lips as her eyes fall shut, long eyelashes fluttering against her flour-dusted cheeks. Something painful washes across her face. Something familiar. It looks a lot like longing. 

Bellamy waits for Clarke to look at him, waits for her to push him away. Waits for a sign that this isn't what she wants. When Clarke just gazes at him, open and trusting and wanting, Bellamy leans in and brushes his lips against hers. 

The kiss is chaste, painfully innocent – a brief caress of skin on skin. But Bellamy is on fire, a bolt of electricity sizzling down his spine. Her mouth is warm, and so soft. He exhales into her skin, resting his forehead against hers. He bites her lower lip on instinct. Kissing Clarke is like coming home, new and familiar all at once. 

He pulls back a little to study her face, to gauge her reaction. Clarke has her eyes closed, chin tilted up toward him. She sighs sweetly. 

Then– “again,” she whispers.

He leans in and kisses her nose. 

“Again,” she whines. He mouths at the furrow between her brows. 

“Again.” His lips land on one pink cheek, than the other. 

Clarke huffs and reaches up to twist the front of his shirt. Pulling Bellamy down, she repeats the word one more time before surging up to kiss him. He hoists her up onto the table and steps between her open legs. Clarke licks into his mouth and winds her arms around his neck, pulling at his hair. A fire ignites low in his belly as their lips slide and catch. And suddenly they’re making out like teenagers in the middle of Clarke’s kitchen. 

The spell is broken when Freya calls for a towel, and Clarke realizes there’s only a bathroom door between them and her daughter. 

Clarke breaks the kiss, and Bellamy takes a small step back to let her slide off the sink. Before she can hide behind her hair and run away from him – Bellamy cradles her face and gives her another bruising kiss. A kiss full of meaning, full of promise. 

When he pulls away this time, they’re both smiling. Clarke squeezes his hand, and pulls herself away from him to grab a towel for Freya. Bellamy puts the apple pie in the oven, and starts cleaning the kitchen. He’s washing his hands when Clarke comes back, Freya tucked into her chest and wrapped in a fluffy towel. 

“She wants to ask you something.” Clarke says, and pads up to Bellamy. The towel is too big for Freya, and it trails along the floor. Freya lifts the part covering her hair to peek up at him. “Can you sing me to sleep, Bell-my?” She looks like a little baby, cradled in her Mother’s arms, eyes big and sleepy. Nightly lullabies have become a tradition of sorts in the weeks since the “Goat Disaster”. 

Bellamy chuckles under his breath. “Of course, princess. Be right there.” When he finishes up in the kitchen, he finds mother and daughter in Freya’s room. Freya looks warm and snug in her new pink pyjamas. Bellamy had just finished making them last week and Freya now refused to sleep in anything else. 

Clarke brushes Freya’s hair and Bellamy braids an intricate plait into it. Freya snuggles into her twin bed, looking at the two of them expectantly. Bellamy sighs and squishes onto one side, Clarke on the other. They smile at each other over Freya’s head. 

Bellamy’s voice is low and gravely, but when he sings– it’s achingly soft. He pillows his head on his arm and sings about a lovely, precious girl. 

Freya is facing Bellamy, two hands tucked underneath her cheek. As her eyes fall closed, Bellamy looks up at Clarke, only to find her in the same position as her daughter, fast asleep. 

He sings a few more verses, then tucks them in, standing up to leave. Clarke shifts in the bed and catches his hand. He turns back to smile softly at her. “Stay,” she mumbles, half-asleep. Her hand tightens around his. “Stay.” Freya snores adorably beside her, exactly the way Octavia used to snore back on the Ark. 

Bellamy gives in to Clarke almost immediately, unable to muster the strength to refuse her. He sinks back onto the bed, over the covers. He curls around Freya and tangles his legs with Clarke’s, who still hasn’t let go of his hand. 

And utterly content to watch his two princesses sleep soundly beside him, Bellamy lets himself relax. The last thing he sees before falling asleep are the two most important people in his life. “Isn’t she lovely?” He chuckles. Already drifting off, he stumbles on the words. 

“Made from love…”


	5. Day Trip, Take Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where Raven solves the mystery. Shit hits the fan after that. Thanks a lot, Raven, thanks a LOT.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am SO sorry for the long hiatus. Thank you to everyone who is still reading! I made this chapter extra super long for you guys. I am back and better than ever, baby! School is out and quarantine is IN. Chapters are gonna be coming in like crazy so STAY TUNED. I'm gearing up to finish this fic and start on a new one. Yeehaw!

Summer sweeps over Shadow Valley like a wayward breeze. One moment the air is sweet and crisp with Spring, and the next – Summer, hot and heavy, has enveloped Trikova kru in its honeyed embrace.

As the trees and meadows grow heavy with fruit and flower, the people lazy and sluggish with summer sweat – Bellamy wavers between extreme happiness and extreme doubt. 

On the one hand, he stands a chance of regaining what he and Clarke had had before the world went to shit. That perfect companionship, the silent and unshakeable trust of mutual understanding, unique only to them. They’re taking things slow, but it’s not borne out of uncertainty.

No. 

This, the way they’re taking the time to relearn each other – this is the leisurely pace of two old lovers. Two people who know that they’re meant to be together, and will find their way back to one another– always. 

But on the other hand, Clarke is holding back. It was easy to ignore at first, or dismiss as shy reserve after nearly six years apart – but it’s more than clear now that something is off with Clarke. Not just off, but wrong. The vague distance that she keeps between them, the bouts of unshakable melancholy, that quiet pain in her eyes when she looks at him – it frightens him. Something's very wrong with Clarke, no doubt about it. And Bellamy is sure as hell going to get to the bottom of it.

\---

Clarke’s in the kitchen when Bellamy knocks on the door. 

“It’s open!” She calls out.

He follows the sound of her voice and finds her washing freshly harvested fruits in the sink, humming absentmindedly in the light of the open window. 

Bellamy sneaks up behind her and snakes his arms around her waist, dwarfing her tiny frame with his large body. She tenses up for a second, before relaxing into the cradle of his arms. 

“You know it’s dangerous to keep your door unlocked, right?” Bellamy murmurs. “Just about anyone can find their way in.” He purrs into her ear, “catch you unaware.”

Clarke shivers. “Well I have to keep it open.” She continues to wash the strawberries with mock indifference, sleeves pushed up to her elbows and hands pruny with bubbles. “You see, there’s this guy who’s always coming around…” She trails off, fighting a smile. 

“Oh yea?” Bellamy asks, rocking her back and forth and gently trailing his fingers up and down her sides. “What’s this guy like?”

“Oh, you’d like him.” Clarke says, nonchalant. “Smart, tragically handsome…” Bellarke hums, smugly urging her on. “...kind of nerdy. Like an old man, really. Incredibly bossy–”

Bellamy spins her around and pins her to the table with his hips. “Excuse me, princess?” 

“What?” Clarke blinks up at him innocently, bringing a single strawberry to her mouth and taking a slow, deliberate bite. Bellamy’s eyes darken as her lips wrap around the juicy red fruit, her eyes watching him beneath lowered lashes. 

Bellamy’s muscles tense around her, arms straining with the effort of keeping still. He waits patiently as she chews and swallows, watching her with a single-minded intensity. A predator waiting to pounce. 

Clarke licks her lips, smiling sweetly up at him – and he attacks, like an arrow let loose from its bow. Bellamy twines his fingers in her hair and kisses her hard on the mouth, sipping at the last traces of strawberry on her tongue. Clarke’s knees buckle and she sags against him, rucking up his shirt to touch his abdomen.

Bellamy grasps the backs of her thighs and hauls her up and onto the counter. Clarke immediately wraps her legs around his waist and sighs out his name in between hot, open-mouthed kisses. “Bellamy…”

He bites down on her lower lip and Clarke gasps, arching her back as heat pools into her belly. He pulls back infinitesimally and Clarke whines low in her throat. 

“Come back,” she pouts. He leans further away to get a good look at her. He loves Clarke like this – her hair wild and messy, lips swollen and puffy. She looks totally and completely wrecked. 

Clarke lets Bellamy look his fill, threading her fingers around his neck and playing with his curls. “Like what you see?” 

Bellamy chuckles, low and deep. “You know I do.” Clarke smiles and Bellamy steals another quick kiss. “I am still wondering about this guy though…” 

Clarke groans, rolling her eyes. 

“Quite the catch, huh?” Bellamy says, mock serious. 

Clarke snorts. “Oh yea.”

Bellamy nods, grave. “He sounds like a really great guy.” He winks.

“Yea.” She says, voice soft. Her smile wavers. “He really is.” 

Bellamy can’t pinpoint the exact moment when he loses her. He just knows that one second she’s in his arms, stroking his cheek. And the next, she’s lost in some other world that he cannot reach. Her fingers are still on his skin, her eyes stuck on his freckles – but she’s far away. 

He’s always been able to read Clarke, to know exactly what she’s thinking with just one glance. But in these moments, she’s completely shut off from him. Distant and cold in a way that scares him. 

Bellamy smooths his hands up and down her thighs, waiting for her (always waiting for her) to come back to him. Eventually she blinks, forces a smile. 

“Where did you go?” He asks, quiet. 

Clarke shrugs, looks away. Bellamy grabs her chin, gently turning her head to look at him. 

“Baby.” He whispers, tracing her precious little chin, the proud set of her jaw. “Please.”

Clarke sighs. “I was just thinking... about before.” She closes her eyes. “When I thought–” Her voice breaks. “When I thought I’d never see you again.”

A few tears escape and Bellamy’s heart aches in his chest. She struggles to compose herself, hiding her face in his shirt. Bellamy doesn’t mind. He wraps his arms around her back and lays his cheek on her head. 

“Clarke, I’m not going anywhere.” Bellamy whispers fiercely. He kisses her hair. Once, twice. “I’m never leaving you again. Ever.”

He’s about to say more when the front door slams open. “Mama! Bellamy! I’m home!” Clarke backs away quickly and uses the palms of her hands to wipe her face. 

Bellamy reaches for her, concerned. “Clarke.” 

She shakes her head. “I’m fine.”

Freya bursts into the kitchen and runs into Clarke’s arms. “Mommy!” She turns to him next. “Bell-my!” She holds out her arms expectantly and Bellamy picks her up in one fluid motion.

“What did my little princess get up to today?” Bellamy coos. 

“I was learning mech-nanics with Auntie Raven! And she said we could go to the lake today. Can we, Mama, can we?” Freya begs, twisting to look at Clarke. 

Clarke smiles. “Of course we can, baby.” She tucks a wayward curl behind Freya’s cheek. “As if I could ever say no to you.” 

Bellamy smirks. “Like mother, like daughter.” 

Clarke gasps loudly and promptly smacks him on the shoulder. 

\---

The day starts out beautifully. Later, Bellamy will feel foolish for thinking it will last.

They set off for the lake after lunch, Spacekru joining them for what’s starting to resemble a family field trip. Freya is at the front of the group, walking with her shoulders back and head held high, pointing out old bear traps and various plants to watch out for. Clarke and Bellamy are content to let Freya take the lead, following close behind and holding hands. 

Bringing in the rear, Raven and Murphy are joking and jostling one another, arguing over whose job is harder – Raven hip-checks Murphy a little too hard and he stumbles over a tree root, landing face first in the dirt. Freya stalks over to them, hands on her hips. She finds Raven bent over laughing and Murphy groaning on his hands and knees. Clarke has to hide a smile as her tiny, 6-year-old daughter manages to look down her nose at an adult woman twice her size. Raven immediately stops laughing, rubbing her neck awkwardly at Freya’s unflinching gaze. 

Freya glares at both of them. “Did I not tell you two to be careful?”

Murphy brushes the dirt off his pants and then crouches at Freya’s level. “Sorry, nugget.” He says affectionately, reaching out to ruffle her hair. 

Freya bats his hands away. “Don’t ‘nugget’ me!” Echo and Emori, unable to silence their laughter, have to step away from the group. Murphy and Raven have the presence of mind to at least look guilty. “If you can’t follow the rules of the forest, then your place is within the camp walls.” She says gravely, repeating words she had obviously heard many times before. 

Raven looks to Clarke for help. Clarke shrugs and quirks a brow. 

“Yes, um.” Raven coughs. “You’re right, Freya. Won’t happen again.”

Freya immediately breaks into a grin. “Great!” Murphy and Raven both let out a relieved sigh. “Let’s get going, then.” She nods once, seemingly pacified, then turns on her heel and heads to the front. “Almost there, everyone!”

Murphy salutes her receding back. “Sir, yes, sir.” He mutters under his breath. 

Raven snorts and then catches up to Clarke. “That girl of yours, phew.” She lets out a whoosh of breath. “She’s a heda in training.” 

Clarke laughs, smiling proudly at her daughter. “I know. Octavia wanted me to name her Augustus, even though it’s not a girl’s name. Maybe I should have.”

Bellamy gives her a surprised look. “Augustus? That’s what I was going to name Octavia if she were a boy.” 

Clarke’s throat dries up as she realizes her mistake. Murphy saves her from answering when he falls into step with the three of them. “What’s the difference between Freya and Augustus? They’re both nerdy names.”

Clarke glares at him and playfully elbows him in the gut. “Take that back!”

“I can’t take back the truth, Griffin.” Murphy shrugs. 

Bellamy chuckles. “I, for one, think they’re great names.” He says airily, placing an arm around Clarke’s shoulders and nosing at her hair. No one is surprised by this blatant display of affection. Bellamy and Clarke haven’t exactly been subtle.

“Well, of course you think it’s a great name. You’re exactly the type of loser to name your kid Augustus.” Murphy shoots back. Bellamy huffs good-naturedly in response. 

Clarke stiffens yet again, staring silently at her feet and willing them to keep moving. 

Raven, ever the perceptive one, notices the slight shift in Clarke’s behaviour. A question that she had pushed to the back of her mind suddenly rises to the forefront. 

“Freya and Bellamy are so similar, too. Natural born leaders. Wouldn’t you say, Clarke?” Raven asks. 

Clarke, pale-faced and sweaty, takes too long to answer. Bellamy frowns slightly, glancing between Clarke’s shaking form and Raven’s carefully blank face. Something dark crosses along his features, and Raven watches him struggle to shake it off. 

“Yea, um. Yes.” She eventually gets out, voice cracking. It sounds strained even to Murphy’s ears, who glances at her with obvious concern. 

Bellamy still looks troubled, unease settling into the lines of his face as they continue to follow Freya through the forest. 

Raven can tell that he’s still confused, maybe even conflicted. But she’s not. 

Just like that, all the puzzle pieces have fallen into place. 

\--- 

When they get to the lake, Freya scurries up the rocks and thrusts her arms into the air. “We’re back, bitches!” She yells into the sky, face sparkling with joy. Then she takes a running start and leaps into the clear blue water. 

They all turn to Clarke, eyebrows raised. 

Clarke purses her lips. “I have no idea where she got that from.” She winks, then takes off for the water. “Race you!” She yells, tearing off her clothes and shoes.

Bellamy shakes his head and grins. “These girls will be the death of me.” Then shucks off his shirt and races in after her. Murphy, Echo, and Emori quickly follow behind him, tripping and pushing each other. 

Raven, though, hangs back. She picks up their discarded clothes and lays out the towels, smiling faintly. Her mind working a mile a minute. 

She watches silently as Bellamy sneaks up on Clarke and Freya, going underwater to tickle their toes. Both of them start screaming and kicking wildly at him underwater. Bellamy pops out of the water and they gasp. “Mercy!” He pleads, smiling with his hands in the air. 

The two girls, like mirror images, smile mischievously at one another. They nod once, determined, then attack at full force. Freya leaps onto his back, arms and legs wrapped around him like a monkey. And Clarke surprises him with a splash attack, blinding him momentarily, before throwing herself into his arms and pushing him into the water. They’re all laughing contagiously, voices bouncing off the rocks and into the sky. 

Raven sighs. Those girls will be the death of him indeed. 

\--- 

Some time later, Raven and Bellamy are bouncing rocks off the water. It’s late in the day now, almost evening, and everyone has fallen asleep on the rocks, stretched out and tanning in the sun. 

Clarke and Freya are still in the water, having a hand-stand competition and seeing who can hold their breath the longest. Bellamy can’t help but smile at their antics. His eyes keep straying towards their spot along the rocks, marvelling at the new jump Freya has invented or the new competition Clarke has proposed. 

Raven catches him staring. She clears her throat. “Can I ask you a question?”

Bellamy hums, distracted. “Sure.”

“Who is Freya’s father?”

Bellamy freezes. His entire body locks up, from the bones in his fists to the tendons in his neck. “How should I know? Ask Clarke.” His tone is cool and brisk. And yet the familiar plains of his face resemble a storm about to break. 

“You really don’t know?” Raven asks, calm as ever. 

Bellamy’s jaw ticks. “How could I know?” He grits out.

Raven refuses to break eye contact. “She’s your best friend.”

“She’s my girl.” He says, gruff. 

“She’s your soulmate.” Raven corrects, eyes aflame. “And yet you look me in the eye and tell me…” Raven steps closer and stabs his chest with her finger. “That you don’t know?!” 

“I don’t know!” Bellamy shouts. They both freeze at the volume, but they’re far away from the group, on the opposite shore. Raven chose this spot for a reason.

Bellamy backs away and presses his fingers into closed eyelids. “I don’t know, okay?” He looks defeated. “Just drop it.”

Raven scoffs. “Bullshit.”

Bellamy sighs. “Raven, I–”

“Bull. Shit.” She says again. “Just look at her.”

He crosses his arms. “I don’t–”

“Just look at her!” She yells, pointing behind him. 

He follows the line of her finger and stops breathing when it lands on Freya. 

She’s closer than Bellamy thought she was, standing on a high rock and preparing to dive. Her hair, dripping wet, is dark and curling. More brown than blonde. Instead of Clarke’s sunburnt red, her skin has darkened into a faint olive colour. But it’s the freckles that give her away. They sprinkle down her arms and back. And when she turns to wave at them, Bellamy can see the constellations even at a distance on her little nose and shining cheeks. 

He stumbles back. She dives in. He falls to his knees. She disappears into the water and re-emerges by Clarke’s floating form. “No...” They laugh and link arms. 

“No.” Bellamy whispers, disbelieving. 

He cradles his head in his hands. “No.” He says again, face crumpling. 

Tears streak down his chin and neck. “God, no.” He pleads, voice cracking. His throat burns and throbs with pain. Blood pounds in his ears. 

Raven crouches beside him and tears his fingers away from his face. “Yes.” She cradles his tear-stained cheeks. “You know in your heart that it’s true.”

Bellamy heaves. “How could she–” He struggles to find the words. “Clarke wouldn’t–” 

“Wouldn’t she, though?” Raven searches his face. “Wouldn’t she?” His eyes fall closed. “If she thought she had to,” Raven continues gravely, “we both know Clarke is capable of anything.” His eyes pop open and he slaps her hands away. 

“Get off me.” He snaps. Bellamy stands up and whirls around, stalking into the trees. 

“Where are you going?” Raven calls after him, concerned. 

“To talk to my sister.” He doesn’t slow down. “And find out the truth.” 

\---

The sun is setting by the time Clarke makes it back from the lake. The front door is open and banging against rusted hinges. The wind chimes rattle ominously in the swelling breeze. Clarke crosses her arms and shivers. There is a storm on the horizon. Blue skies giving way to dark, foreboding clouds. 

She steps over the blue threshold and gently closes the door behind her. “Bellamy?” Something feels wrong, the house is too quiet. “Raven told me that you had to talk to Octavia about something. Is everything okay?” No answer. The computer monitor is set up and waiting on the dining table. There’s an incoming call, but no Bellamy in sight.

“Bell?” Clarke wanders into the kitchen. It’s empty. “Freya was very upset when you left without saying goodbye.” She shivers again. The house is freezing cold. 

She’s searching for a sweater when a thump sounds from Freya’s room. Clarke inhales sharply. “Bell…” Still no answer. She touches the door handle and it slowly creaks open. 

She gasps inaudibly. “Fuck, Bell. You scared the daylights out of–”

“Where is she?” Bellamy is sitting at the foot of Freya’s bed, surrounded by drawings of Freya at various stages in her childhood. He’s organized the piles into newborn, baby, toddler… all the way up to now, with Clarke’s more recent drawings of Freya as a lively six year old. 

“Sorry, what?” What is he talking about?

“Where is Freya?” His eyes are red. His face drawn and ashen. He looks sick. 

“I took her to visit Harper and Monty. She missed them today.” Bellamy looks down at his hands. He’s holding Freya’s photo album. There are only six grainy, off-white pictures – one for every year of her life. Clarke found an old camera when Freya was still a baby, and used the film only sparingly. 

“Bellamy.” The hair at the back of her neck stands on end. “What are you doing in here?” She asks carefully.

“I was looking at photos…” He raises his head and pierces her with hate-filled eyes, “...of my daughter.” His voice is quiet, but the words bounce off the walls and reverberate through her body. 

Clarke’s stomach drops. A crack of thunder rattles through the room. It’s going to rain. 

“How did you…” Her throat works and works but nothing comes out. “I…” Clarke knots her hands in her hair and pulls. Her eyes frantically bounce around the room. She can't look at him. “I–”

“You what?” Bellamy whispers. He stands on shaky legs. “You what, Clarke?”

“Did you lie to me? Hide your pregnancy from me?” His voice rises in volume. “What, Clarke?” He laughs bitterly. “Did you keep my daughter away from me?” 

“You have to understand.” Clarke’s openly crying now, trembling with emotion. “I never meant to–” 

“You knew for months, Clarke!” Bellamy bursts out. “The last time we... “ His voice cracks. “The last time," he continues shakily, "was in Arkadia, before we even knew about Praimfaya." He glares at her, jaw set. "You had to have known.” 

“The world was ending, okay?” Clarke covers her mouth with her hands. “I didn’t know how to tell you.” She sobs, heaving and trembling. Her heart collapsing in her chest. 

Bellamy paces the room, furiously wiping the tears away. “You knew and you kept it from me.” Clarke whimpers. 

“You knew,” he advances on her. “And you sacrificed yourself anyway.”

She presses a hand to her stomach and sobs violently.

“Then when I finally came down, and met Freya for the first time,” he steps closer. They’re toe to toe now. Blue eyes meet black ice. His face is stone – furious, unrelenting stone. “I didn’t even know I was meeting my own daughter.” He grits out of clenched teeth. 

Bellamy raises her blotchy chin. “And you were never going to tell me, were you?” His voice is deadly quiet, lethal. The room is dead silent, until–

“No.” She shakes her head violently. “That’s not true,” she hiccups, “I was going to, I swear–”

Bellamy’s face morphs into a sneer. "Liar." He looks disgusted. He drops his hand and brushes past her. 

“Bellamy, wait.” She follows him out of the house. The sky rumbles threateningly overhead. “Let me explain.” Clarke cries, catching onto his sleeve. He brushes her off again, stalking past the stables and into the dark forest. Clarke runs in after him. The rain starts to pour, pounding at her head. She’s drenched within seconds. 

“Wait! Bellamy!” She rubs furiously at her eyes, the rain and the tears clouding her vision. “Bell, please.” She calls out desperately. 

Clarke wanders blindly in the direction she last saw him, stumbling over roots and branches. The forest is enveloped in shadow, and lightning flashes overhead. 

“Please.” She whimpers. Where is he? How did it all go so wrong?

Thunder booms through the sky and Clarke screams in terror. She staggers and trips, falling down, down, down….

“Bellamy.” She wheezes, rapidly losing consciousness. Clarke curls into herself. “Please…” 

Everything goes dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops... sorry for that cliffhanger... Comment what you think is going to happen. 
> 
> If y'all have been following this fic for a while, then you know that I suffer from major self esteem issues when it comes to my writing. I'm just convinced that I can't write for shit and that my work sucks. So a special thank you and shoutout to @kguptill and @snapnahalf89 for their lovely comments on the last chapter. You have no idea how many times I read and reread your comments to give myself some confidence and motivation to continue this story. And @Wanderlusttraveler14 , your comment the other day gave me the push I needed to finish this very long and challenging (angst-filled!) chapter. So thank you so much y'all. This chapter is dedicated to you three. 
> 
> On that note, PLEASE comment, like, and subscribe!!! As I hope I have adequately expressed, your comments are the REASON I write. They literally give me LIFE. I need affirmation to SURVIVE, thank u. 
> 
> And last thing! Come yell at me on Tumblr at @toomuchdamage – I'm totally down to take some prompts ;)


	6. Heartbreak Avenue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke is not in the best shape. Octavia and Abby come to visit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my GOD, this chapter was so hard to write. I had to stop and cry like every five seconds. And I had Knocking on Heaven's Door on repeat. YIKEs. good luck. keep tissues on hand. 
> 
> Thank you ALL for your wonderful comments last chapter, I think that's the most feedback I've gotten on this fic and it genuinely made me feel so happy and gush-y. You guys are the best. My heart was so full every time I got a notification. 
> 
> P.S. This is largely unedited but I hope so much that y'all enjoy it as much as the last one!

“Where the hell is she?” The voice cracks like a whip against Bellamy’s prone form.

“Wha…” He wipes his eyes blearily. Rhea stands at the entrance of his room, hands on her hips, features twisted in fury and desperation.

Bellamy immediately stands at attention, sleep forgotten. “What’s going on?”

“Clarke’s missing.” Rhea sears him with a look. “And I know you had something to do with it. Raven told me every–“

Bellamy’s already up and brushing past her, hurriedly pulling on clothes and then his shoes.

“She never picked up Freya from Monty’s last night. She missed all of her morning appointments. We’ve checked everywhere. She’s not at the house, or the hospital, or the schoolhouse, or, or–“

Bellamy slams open the door of his cabin. “Bring your best scouts and meet me in the forest behind Clarke’s house.”

Rhea stares, open-mouthed. She’s not used to taking orders.

Bellamy steps forward. “Got it?” Silence.

He shakes her. “Got it?!” His jaw is tense, eyes wild and desperate.

“Yes. I’ll meet you there.”

He takes off at a run.

\--

Three hours later, Bellamy emerges from the forest carrying an unconscious Clarke in his arms. There is dirt and blood caked in her golden hair. So much blood… too much. The villagers gather in crowds, some on their knees, praying and whispering. Could it be that Heda Gon Sonraun, Commander of Life, meets death at last?

Bellamy’s face is a mask of stone, void of all emotion. Tears cut his face like cracks on marble.

He makes it to the hospital and gently places Clarke on the nearest bed. “I found her in a ditch. A tree fell on her during the storm… she’s unresponsive.”

The healer nods and gets to work, checking her vitals and hooking up various machines. Bellamy paces around the room, eyes never leaving Clarke’s pale, dirt-streaked face.

Time passes strangely as Bellamy paces and paces, counting his steps again and again. Finally, the healer sets down his tools and steps away from Clarke’s unconscious body. He snaps off his gloves. “I’ve done what I can, we need to send for Abby.” Bellamy notices for the first time that Rhea and Penelope have followed him into the room.

Rhea runs a shaking hand through her hair. “I already did.” She glances at Bellamy. “From the moment we knew she was missing.” There is an accusation in her gaze, a sentence and a verdict. The weight of it lies heavy and crushing on Bellamy’s shoulders.

He collapses in a chair beside Clarke’s bed, squeezing her small limp hand in his own. “When will she wake?”

The healer sighs through his teeth. “The question is,” he looks at each of them in turn, eyes lingering on Bellamy, “will she wake up at all.”

A sharp intake of breath. “She will.” Bellamy absent-mindedly traces her knuckles. “She has to.” His voice is steel, leaving no room for argument.

\--

Bellamy is tucking a blanket snug against Clarke’s chin, when sounds of a commotion seep in through the hallway.

“Let me go.” A muffled voice, the unmistakeable sounds of struggle. “Let me go! Please! I need to see her–“ The door slams open and Freya sprints inside, Rhea and Penelope tumbling in after her.

They all freeze as Freya catches sight of her mother – strapped up to a dozen machines, a tube forcing its way down her throat. Bellamy had done his best to clean the blood and dirt off of Clarke’s skin, carefully rubbing salve onto her many cuts and bruises. Still, it is clear to both father and daughter that Clarke is all but knocking on heaven’s door, a heart monitor beeping ominously overhead.

Rhea and Penelope jump into action first, stepping in front of Freya and blocking her view of Clarke.

Penelope crouches down to her level. “Freya, honey. Your mom wouldn’t want you to see her this way.”

That stops Freya in her tracks. She stands still for a moment, chin tipped high and blue eyes resolute, looking so much like Clarke that it physically _hurts._ “I don’t care,” she whispers.

She glances at Clarke’s lifeless form over Penelope’s shoulder. Her face crumbles. “I don’t care!” Freya says louder, voice cracking. “I….” She looks so lost.

Bellamy does not hesitate. He’s out of his chair and across the room within seconds, cradling Freya – his _daughter _– in his arms.

She sniffles once, twice – then breaks down into Bellamy’s shoulder, wrapping her tiny arms around his neck. “Bell,” she whimpers, “Mama is… she can’t–“ Freya heaves brokenly against his chest. “And I can’t leave her, please…” She struggles for breath, “please don’t make me leave.” She dissolves into panicked sobs.

Bellamy picks her up and rocks her back and forth, arms tight and steady around her tiny frame. “Shh, baby.” He whispers into her soft, downy head. “Shh… it’s going to be okay.” He breathes in deeply as she cries, desperately trying to hold back his own tears. The guilt and panic well up in his chest and lodge painfully in his throat. This is all his own doing.

He locks eyes with Penelope and Rhea, both standing weary and uncertain a few feet away. “She stays.” His mouth is set in a grim, uncompromising line. To hell with them. Freya should be allowed to stay with her mother… and her father.

Bellamy rubs Freya’s back reassuringly. “Let’s go say hi to your Mom, okay?” Freya sniffles and nods into his neck. He carries her to the cot and sets her down by Clarke’s waist. Freya clutches at his hands, a look of panic flaring across her face, until Bellamy drags his chair over and sits as close as possible. Rhea and Penelope silently leave the room, giving the family some privacy.

Silent tears track down Freya’s ruddy cheeks as she takes a good look at her mother. So strange and unfamiliar in this dreary hospital bed.

“Hi Clarke, it’s Bellamy.” Bellamy says, trying for cheerful. “Freya’s here too.”

Freya’s eyes widen. “She can hear us?”

Bellamy gently wipes the tears from Freya’s eyes, brushing the wayward curls away from her face. “Why not?” Freya scrunches up her nose, confused. Bellamy sighs. “There’s a chance that she can hear us, yes.” He forces a smile as Freya’s entire face lights up. She clears her throat and turns to Clarke, determined.

“Hi, Mama.” She hesitates. “You look terrible.” Bellamy chokes on a laugh. “You better wake up soon. The summer solstice is coming up and I know it’s your favourite.” She raises a shaking hand and gently strokes Clarke’s bandaged cheek. “I promise I’ll be good if you wake up.” Her voice lowers into a whisper. “I’ll do all my chores, and finish my homework on time. I won’t stay up late and I’ll even feed the chickens without asking. Just wake up, okay?” It breaks his heart to hear the desperation in her voice.

Bellamy drops a quick kiss to her forehead. “Brave princess.”

Freya curls up beside her mother, rubbing her face into Clarke’s arm. “You better wake up, Mama.” Her words are slurring together at this point. Bellamy strokes her back. Poor baby’s probably exhausted from all that crying. “You better wake up…” She yawns. “Else me and Bell gonna be so mad…”

And just like that, his daughter – his _daughter _– is fast asleep.

\--

Abby arrives early the next morning, Octavia in tow.

Bellamy had managed to coax Freya into going home and getting some sleep – so he’s all alone, passed out in his chair, when it’s time to face Abby and Octavia’s collective wrath.

His sister arrives in her usual tumultuous fashion, breaking down the door and talking a mile a minute. Fussing about Clarke and barely noticing Bellamy’s presence.

Bellamy sighs. Loudly.

She pivots on a single heel. “Well, well, well.” She crosses her arms defiantly. “If it isn’t big brother-”

“Baby sister.” He nods his head in acknowledgment, lips quirking up a bit at the corners.

“-needlessly rushing head-long into trouble, once again.”

Bellamy exhales. “O-”

“You did this, didn’t you?” She throws a hand at Clarke. “This is your fault.”

He looks away, pain flitting across his face. “O, I haven’t seen you in _six years.” _He says quietly. 

She scoffs, furious. “Six years where I’ve been dealing with the fallout of _your _decisions.”

“Me?” He yells, shooting up from his chair. “Me?! _She’s_ the one-“ He glances at Clarke and lowers his voice, running a frustrated hand through his hair. “She’s the one who didn’t tell me about Freya.” His jaw ticks. He locks eyes with Octavia, tears pricking at the backs of his eyelids. “My _daughter, _O.”

“The world was _ending. _You two weren’t even_ together.“_

“She owed it to me to at least-“

Octavia explodes. “You _left _her, Bellamy!”

And. There it is.

Bellamy takes it like a physical blow, stumbling backwards and scrambling for purchase.

“You left her here to die, Bell_.” _Octavia whispers, taking no satisfaction from the agony fracturing her brother’s ashen face. “She doesn’t owe you anything.”

Octavia exhales and takes a seat, suddenly exhausted. “Imagine being in her place. Just for a second.” She crosses her legs coolly. “Imagine sacrificing yourself again and again, for the good of your people – only to realize that the world is ending and there’s nothing you can do to stop it. Imagine discovering that a life is growing inside you, but chances are it’ll never see the light of day.”

Her voice grows in volume. “Imagine giving up everything – sacrificing your _life – _so that your friends might be saved. Imagine thinking you’re the last person left on earth, wandering the desert for weeks on end, slowly dying of dehydration.” Her lips turn down at the corners. “Imagine wishing and hoping and _waiting _for five years. For the father of your child to come back home. Not knowing if he’s dead or alive. Imagine giving birth and raising a baby all by yourself.” Her voice cracks and dies. She lets out a breath.

“No, Bell.” Octavia shakes her head slowly. “No. Clarke Griffin doesn’t owe you anything.”

The Blakes stare at each other. One sibling, broken and suffering. Reckless in the face of unbearable pain. The other, honest and sensible – level-headed in the midst of chaos. The roles have reversed. Six years yawn open between them, a chasm yet to be breached.

Silence pervades the room, stifling the air between them. Two siblings, separated by time and space, and now, by words too painful to voice aloud.

Bellamy breaks first. “But, why…” His voice trips and cracks and falls to the floor at their feet. Octavia swallows, hard. She has never seen her brother cry.

“Why didn’t…” His throat works and works, but nothing comes out. He squeezes his eyes shut and clutches at his chest, thumping on his heart painfully. “Why didn’t she tell me, O?” He says, finally. Brokenly. “We were supposed to be a team…” He begins to cry in earnest. “But I left… and she died… and now–“ He points to Clarke and covers his mouth with both hands, choking out unintelligible words.

Octavia’s breath catches. It’s like she can see Bellamy’s heart beneath the armour of his chest. It is a fragile thing, ripped to shreds, cut open and bleeding dry.

It is a wound that has never healed.

As Bellamy breaks and crumbles before her, Octavia takes one step. Then another. As he collapses into full-body sobs, shaking and trembling with the force of his grief, Octavia gently places her arms around him. She strokes his back and nuzzles his hair, taking in her big brother’s scent after six long years apart. “Shh…shh… it’s okay, hush now. It’s going to be okay.”

In that cold, clinical hospital room – Bellamy breaks down for the first time since finding Clarke lifeless and blood-soaked, small and alone in the dirt. The buried fear and desperation and guilt pour out of him in unrelenting waves.

In that cold, clinical hospital room – Octavia looks at her brother and thinks, for the first time:

_‘My brother, my responsibility.’_

When his tears eventually subside, Octavia cradles his face in both hands and wipes the wetness from his eyes. “Listen to me, Bellamy. You and Clarke are partners. For better or for worse. In life and in death. Despite time and distance and the fucking apocalypse. We knew it even at the dropship, called you Mom and Dad behind your back.” She chuckles dryly. “Hell, Clarke let a bomb drop on me in TonDC and you forgave her. You left her behind to _die_, to raise a child alone for six years_, _and she forgave you.”

Bellamy shakes his head, “then why-”

“Let me finish.” She pinches his cheeks, cross. “Clarke and Freya waited for you to come down, year after year, counting down the days and weeks. Clarke radioed you _every day_. At the five-year mark, Clarke lost it. She thought you had died in the rocket. They _mourned _you, Bell… I mourned you.” She looks away, blinking back tears. “There was a ceremony. Clarke was… inconsolable.” A shadow crosses over her face.

“Are you telling me…” His voice is unreadable. “…that Freya has known, all this time.”

“Yes.” The colour drains from his face. “I tried to tell you on the radio. But you hung up as soon as I confirmed.”

His eyes are unseeing. Octavia reaches for his hand and squeezes, hard.

“You have to understand, Freya wanted a chance to get to know her father. A father that she had long assumed dead. Clarke gave her a choice when you first came down. Yes or no. Yes meant Clarke would pull you aside at the closest opportunity and tell you everything. No meant–”

“That Freya would tell me when she was ready.” Bellamy finishes, with dawning comprehension. “Or not at all.”

“Exactly. It killed Clarke not to tell you. Even after everything, you’re still her best friend.” She pauses meaningfully as Bellamy gazes at Clarke. “Her partner.”

His face goes slack. “Her partner.” He mouths almost silently. The guilt is unbearable. “Her partner.” He stands on shaky legs and walks to Clarke as if in a trance. He ignores the chair and collapses on the bed, in the space that Freya had vacated only hours before.

He leans over her and kisses her gently, at the crown of her golden head. “I’m so sorry, princess. So very sorry.” He leans back and enfolds her tiny hand in his two big ones. “I’m your partner.” He sucks in a breath. “I am. And I let you down.” He brings her knuckles to his lips and kisses them reverently. “I jumped to conclusions. I didn’t listen to you. I blamed you for everything.” Tears drop onto her pale, limp hand. “Forgive me, baby. Please forgive me…” He presses his forehead into her abdomen and lowers his voice into a whisper. “Please wake up and yell at me.” He mumbles into her belly, chuckling slightly.

“She will.” Bellamy jumps. Octavia’s on the other side of the bed, holding Clarke’s left hand. “Yell at you, I mean. But she’ll also forgive you. Because that’s what Clarke does.” She nods to their clasped hands. “That’s who you are.”

The siblings smile at each other. Bellamy feels hope begin to blossom in his chest.

The illusion shatters when Abby sweeps into the room, Jackson at her back. Bellamy immediately stands up, “Abby…” She attempts a smile, but it falls painfully flat. There are X-rays and diagrams in her hand. She holds them up slightly. “Internal bleeding and head trauma. We need to get her into surgery immediately.”

Bellamy tries to follow as Abby wheels Clarke out of the room. Jackson blocks his way. “Trust me, you don’t want to see this.”

Bellamy brushes past him. Jackson blocks his view of Clarke yet again. She’s out the door and down the hallway now. His hands shake. He can’t let her out of his sight. “_Bellamy.” _

His nostrils flair. “Get out of my way, Jackson.”

Jackson grabs onto his shoulders and squeezes. “You’ll only get in the way. I’m sorry.”

Bellamy goes limp. Clarke disappears down the hallway, taking his heart with her. For better or for worse. In life and in death.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew, I know, I KNOW, a cliffhanger AGAIN. I couldn't help myself. And I had to split the chapter in two, it was getting so long lol. 
> 
> SO WHAT DID YOU THINK. I really struggled with Bellamy this chapter, and how he would react to this situation. His emotions are always right underneath the surface, but he tries (often futilely) to conceal them, to hold them back. I wasn't sure throughout if I was making Bellamy too emotional. Or maybe this chapter was too angsty? I was sort of in a MOOd. 
> 
> And should he have forgiven Clarke so soon? Some of you thought last chapter that Clarke for once should win Bellamy's trust, and not vice versa, and you may or may not be seeing some of that in future chapters ;) But I think in a situation of life or death, Bellamy will put Clarke above his anger. And in this case, he truly DID jump to conclusions. Even though I love my lil anger baby. Bellamy is quick to anger and forgiveness, and most of all, he is quick to blame himself for everything. And Octavia obviously doesn't help with that. But there are two sides to every story... as we will see next chapter... 
> 
> Also, what did you think of my take on Octavia? I guess I'm more positive in the way I portray her. In this version of events, Blodreina never happened. Everything was more or less fine and dandy in the bunker, and I think in those circumstances, Octavia would have grown for the better and tried to let go of old, abusive, habits.
> 
> If you want to discuss it, come yell at me @toomuchdamage on Tumblr. I would love to hear from you!


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